Your time is limited, both every day and in terms of the years you have on this earth. You only have the emotional bandwidth for a certain number of close connections. Every input port you waste means that there is some incredible other person you will not meet or get to know more deeply.
There’s no person who is innately oblivious to time, as though it were a genetic disorder. We all have values; if someone is perpetually late, she’s getting something out of it — feeling more important than other people, advertising herself as an artsy free spirit, denying her own mortality by refusing to acknowledge the linear march of time, marking her territory like a dog who pisses on clocks.